


Mal de Débarquement

by Sugarsickk



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Could Be Read As Actual Poisoning, Father Figures, Food Poisoning, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:21:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarsickk/pseuds/Sugarsickk
Summary: When Fjord suddenly falls ill during a supply stop, the responsibility to care for him falls to Vandren.





	Mal de Débarquement

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much to my lovely beta reader; bluebellly on tumblr! He was a HUGE help and tbh this fic wouldn’t be nearly as put together without him.

When Fjord’s head spun the moment he got off the boat, he wasn’t particularly concerned. A touch of landsickness when you’d been at sea for weeks on end was very normal, and he’d learned to handle it just fine. Now, he was sitting in a bar with the rest of his crewmates, his arm haphazardly slung around the back of his chair and a grin on his face. The pleasant buzz of the booze in his system meshed nicely with the remaining wooziness from being on land, made him feel a bit better.

Vandren looked at him from across the table, catching his attention.

“Should probably get some food in you before you get too drunk, can’t have you hungover, can we?” His Captain gave him a friendly grin, and Fjord nodded.

“I suppose that’s a good idea,” He halfway yelled back over the din of the tavern. The crew was starting up a rousing rendition of Dashilla and the Diver’s Grave, and Fjord joined in, letting the song flow through him. Music was a popular way for sailors to connect, and he’d always enjoyed singing, even if he wasn’t the best at it. In the middle of the song, he managed to flag down a barmaid, ordering some dinner for himself and a tankard of mead as well. She gave him a vaguely disdainful look, as she eyed the cut on his lip and his yellow eyes. He shrugged it off, knowing people tended to have a certain disdain for orcs and not being particularly surprised. He gave her a gracious smile and paid, being as polite as possible as opposed to being rude in return. It made him feel better about himself knowing there was a chance he’d make her feel guilty.

His mead arrived quickly and he took a long drink, not doing much talking and letting the waves of conversation from the bar wash over him. He was more than a little tipsy, and was brought out of his daze by a hand on his shoulder. Vandren was getting his attention, and he looked up.

“I just wanted to say, Fjord, you did a great job this trip. You’ve always done more than enough for this crew, but you’ve really been excellent as of late,” He said, a warm smile on his face. Fjord grinned before he could stop himself.

“Thank you, sir,” His face was a little pink from the praise, he’d always been awkward about taking compliments. Vandren nodded.

“Of course, Fjord,” He murmured, giving him another smile and going back to talking with the navigator about where they would head next.

Soon enough, Fjord’s food arrived, and he thanked the waitress, once again making sure to be as polite as possible. She looked friendlier than before, and he figured that maybe he’d made her feel guilty. He started to eat. The food here was unspeakably average; seedy dive bars weren’t known for their food. But it was hot, and it didn’t taste absolutely terrible, so that was enough for him.

He was only about halfway through when he realized something was amiss. The landsick feeling was a bit worse, which made sense with his slight intoxication, but there was also a queasy, tight feeling in his stomach that bubbled and twisted. He figured it was probably just the carbonation from the mead not sitting well, and continued on. Suddenly, though, his stomach cramped sharply, like a knife twisting into his gut.

“Fuck,” He hissed, and Vandren looked up.

“Alright there?” He asked, and Fjord nodded a little, continuing to pick at his food and drink his mead. He was breathing somewhat heavily now, palms sweating, and he felt clammy all over. The nausea had peaked, and he swallowed back a sick hiccup. His stomach was rolling, and his mouth was very dry. Vandren had seemed to notice his hesitation, and he kept one warm, steady hand on his shoulder. “Are you not feelin’ well? You look very pale, Fjord. Maybe you should retire early,” He suggested, voice a warm sort of drawl. Fjord shook his head furiously.

“M’fine,” He managed to insist, and his stomach cramped again. He involuntarily clutched at his stomach, eyes watering. Vandren frowned.

“Okay, we’re getting you to bed,” He murmured, helping Fjord to his feet. As he stood, he started to feel a little dizzy. It felt like he was still on the ship, and he tried to steady himself. The lightheadedness persisted. When he took a step, his vision went gray, everything going cold, and he tried to stay up, but he wasn’t- he couldn’t-

Something stopped him from falling, and he gasped for air in the sheer shock of the moment. He blinked the fog from his vision and realized Vandren had a strong, steady arm around his waist, helping him up the stairs of the inn toward his room. He was nearly carrying him, and Fjord let out a soft noise of protest as his stomach hitched. “Okay, you’re alright, you nearly took one hell of a spill back there. Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, stopping at the top of the stairs and holding Fjord’s shoulders so he wouldn’t fall.

He could feel his heartbeat racing and fluttery, sweat beading on his forehead, and he shook his head, keeping one hand pressed over his mouth. “Okay. That’s fine, but I need to know when you feel up to tellin’ me.” He fitted an arm back around Fjord and led him to his room, helping him sit on the bed and closing the door. Vandren took one of the blankets from the bed and tugged it around Fjord’s shoulders. “You’re shaking,” He observed, and Fjord didn’t speak as his stomach gave a particularly violent pitch. He hiccuped into his hand and tasted acid, letting out a soft whimper.

Vandren’s eyes were concerned and cautious. “Easy. Take a few deep breaths,” he advised, and when Fjord did, it only made his stomach cramp harder. He swore under his breath and pressed one hand protectively to his stomach. His captain slowly and cautiously went to get the trash bin in the corner, setting it in front of Fjord and patting his shoulder. Fjord gagged wetly into his hand but he swallowed back the wave, eyes watering. Vandren sighed.

“Come now, Fjord. This clearly isn’t the solution, is it? You’re gonna feel a lot better if you get whatever it is out of your system,” He murmured. “I promise it’s okay, I’ve seen far worse than a bit of vomit,” His voice was smooth and reassuring, and Fjord relaxed into his touch a little, breathing slower. His stomach twisted yet again and he nearly sobbed, heaving sharply and breathing hard as he leaned over the bin. Vandren kept one steady hand on his back, and one small, painful hiccup was all it took for him to be sick, the acid burning his throat with the small gush of vomit he was able to get up. Fjord’s stomach cramped sharply and he let out a soft, pained sound. He gagged roughly and his stomach twisted. With one shaky hand he clutched at his middle, breathing hard, and a wet cough brought up another wave of sick.

He slumped forward suddenly, and Vandren steadied his shoulders. “Woah, okay. I gotcha.” With one hand, he started to slowly rub his back, a concerned expression on his face. The gentle motion quelled his nausea for a few minutes until a wet hiccup brought up a painful, sudden gush of vomit, and Fjord retched painfully into the bin.

Once again, there was a sharp cramp in his abdomen, the pain searing. He whimpered and ghosted a hand over his stomach, trying to rub out the ache, but it did nothing. Vandren continued to rub his back with one light hand. “Breathe, Fjord. It’s alright,” He soothed, and Fjord gagged sharply, eyes watering. Another hiccup had him choking on a surge of acidic bile. As he caught his breath he got a few moments of respite as the nausea dulled for a moment. He leaned heavily on Vandren, who was practically holding him up. He looked a little taken aback, but did his best to comfort Fjord, brushing his fingers over the soft fuzz of his undercut.

His vision was blurry and spinning, and he leaned against Vandren, trying to stay up. Suddenly, he retched into his palm and shot forward, gagging over the basin, mouth watering as he tried not to throw up. There wasn’t really a choice in the matter, it was just a matter of when, and not even seconds later he coughed up a thin stream of sick into the bin. His stomach was starting to hurt severely, the muscles strained and sore from all of the heaving. Trying to brace himself on the trash bin, he heaved fruitlessly, and he nearly sobbed at the sheer pain flooding his middle. “Okay, you’re really fucking sick,” Vandren murmured, a note of alarm in his voice. “Do you think you’ll be okay for a minute or two while I get you a hot water bottle? Might ease some of the ache a bit,” He asked, and Fjord groaned softly.

“I should.. I should be ok,” His voice was a testament to how ill he was, and he winced as he rasped. Vandren nodded and patted his back gently.

“I’ll be right back, okay? You hang in there,” Vandren told him, and exited the room. The minute he did, Fjord heaved violently. He hadn’t realized he’d been preventing himself from being sick until he was already throwing up, a sudden wave of vomit burning his throat. He whimpered and hiccuped loudly, not hiding anything now that Vandren was gone. With one hand, he gently rubbed at his stomach, trying to soothe the raging nausea and the pain. It didn’t help; in fact, it made him feel worse, and his stomach cramped under his palm.

He choked up a mouthful of bile, spitting into the bin and nearly starting to cry at how much it hurt. He set the bin down for a minute, lying back on the bed and trying to relax while he could. Then suddenly, his stomach twisted and he sat up so fast he was on the floor the next thing he knew, gagging wetly and trying not to choke on his own vomit. He was dizzy from having sat up so fast, slumped over the bin and shaking, and Vandren’s voice brought him out of his miserable stupor as he retched. “Oh, Fjord.. That’s it, you’re alright. It’s gonna be over soon.” He gently set a hand on Fjord’s shoulder, supporting him the best he could so he didn’t fall over entirely.

There was a clear note of worry in Vandren’s voice. Not even Fjord knew what was making him so sick so suddenly, but he suspected it was food poisoning. “I brought you this, it should help you feel a little better,” He murmured, brandishing a pitcher of water and a hot water bottle. He handed the bottle to Fjord, and set the pitcher on the bedside table. Fjord heaved a few more times and then set the bottle against his stomach, letting out a soft whimper of relief as it hit his overworked muscles.

The heat leached into him, his muscles relaxing a bit even as his stomach cramped. The cramps were more dull pangs now, and now that he was able to relax a little he suddenly pitched forward and was sick again, getting up what he figured was the last of his stomach contents. It hurt, and he felt a little like he was going to cry. The nausea was subsiding a bit, going back to just being a sickly bubbling in his stomach. He held the water bottle closer, hoping he’d feel better.

The heat of it made the rest of him feel very cold, and he didn’t realize he was shivering until Vandren adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. He pressed the back of his hand to Fjord’s forehead, biting his lip in worry, and Fjord let out a soft sound at how good the gentle contact felt. “You’re running a fever,” Vandren noted, and Fjord nodded shakily. He wanted to respond, to say something, but ended up falling forward and getting sick again.

Vandren gently pet his dark hair. “You need to try and get some water down, you’re only going to get worse if you’re dehydrated. It’s better to have something in you to throw up, even if you do end up throwing it up,” he said quietly, handing Fjord a glass of water. “Even a few sips will help, I promise,” he reassured, and Fjord took it.

“Thank you,” Fjord croaked, his voice gravelly and painful.

“Of course.” Vandren patted his shoulder. It took some convincing, but eventually Fjord began to take small sips of his water. He got halfway through before handing the glass back, not sure if he’d be able to keep down any more. For a while, he didn’t actually feel too bad.

Of course, once he thought he was safe, his stomach heaved painfully, even though the hot pack had been helping. He let out a small cough and gagged up most of the water he’d gotten in him into the bin, shaking. “If you can’t keep water down, that’s not a good sign,” Vandren observed, and Fjord tried to drink the rest of the water, slower this time. He kept the hot pack against his stomach, disregarding his dignity and rubbing small, light circles into his tummy in an attempt to keep it settled. Though he hiccuped a few times, he managed to keep it down. Vandren had rubbed his back gently, tried to make sure best he could that he’d be able to keep it down.

Once the nausea had gotten to a manageable level, Fjord was absolutely exhausted. His stomach hurt. His eyes hurt. It was hard to define a part of him that didn’t hurt. Vandren could see how he’d wilted, and he set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Alright, I think it’s time for you to get some sleep. Seems like your stomach has settled down enough for you to be this tired, so I want you to at least try,” Vandren instructed, and helped Fjord up onto the bed.

Fjord snuggled into the blankets and closed his eyes, keeping the water bottle pressed to his stomach. He really was exhausted, and Vandren tucked him in, sitting down on the other bed and watching. “I’m going to stay, alright? I don’t know if I want you to be alone,” He informed him, and Fjord nodded sleepily, curling up into a ball around his hot pack.  
Now that he could finally relax, sleep came easily to him, and Fjord drifted off within mere minutes.


End file.
